Sing, My Little Songbird
by CanidSerpent
Summary: The time spent between Magneto and the most faithful of his Acolytes is scarce, but they make do. (Re-uploaded from my unstable period)


One of the fics I'm uploading from my chaotic and anxiety-filled period of my writing, in which I felt so dissatisfied with my work that I felt the compulsory instinct to tear it down after being uploaded for less than a day.

Looking back on it, this isn't nearly as terrible as I thought it was.

My beef is mostly with characterization, but still, I think it'll do, for now. My apologies to those that enjoyed this piece when it was up initially, especially to those of you that supported me with my endeavors. I feel more stable now, so the stories on here as of now should be secure.

**Note:** Looking at this again, it's probably going to go through a big overhaul soon, at least in terms of the OC and her interactions. This is an older piece from the first year I had her, and she's three years old now, so she has been considerably revamped since then.

* * *

"Sing for me."

The sudden command startles her from the wistful thoughts swirling about in her head, eliciting the quietest and softest of yelps from her lips. Her audible sign of surprise goes unnoticed by him, in the exception that he looks at her from the corner of his eyes, impatiently awaiting for her to heed to his demand.

"Sing for me, my little songbird." He repeats, mentioning her name this time, sterner and with more of a bite than before. His voice alone is enough to stir her from gazing upon the cold metal tile to him. There is power and a condescending tone in it, one that calls to her soul and draws her to him like the metal he manipulates. He cranes his neck slightly to look down upon her; her formally bright and vibrant blue eyes now dulled and full of apprehension and fear of him.

He frowns at this, and steeples his fingers together in thoughtfulness. She is absolutely and terribly afraid of him, his power, and what she believes he will do to her if she disobeys even the simplest of his orders. He does not need her fear to coerce her into obeying him; she does that herself.

For a moment, he lets his eyes wander over her form. She is small and delicate, appearing as if she will break upon the slightest infliction of pain upon her. A worried frown spreads across her features as he scrutinizes her, fraught with worry that he is disgusted or angry of the weakness of her frame. Noticing her vivid expression of fear and worry, he places a gloved hand upon her head, gently and softly running his fingers through her hair.

She takes solace in his movements, closing her eyes peacefully. The shivering of her body begins to reduce, as does the fear held tight within her. He is both the monster of her dreams and the savior of her decadence. She is so terribly frightened by his indomitable will and determination to get what he desires, and so infatuated with his power and strange gentleness.

"I-I cannot..." She suddenly finds the will to speak, her gentile and soft voice just piercing the silence. He is stirred from his thoughts by her voice, seeming more likely that it would belong to a mouse than a person. He turns his attention to her once more, slowly easing himself from the throne-like chair to stand behind her. Gently, he places a gloved hand on her back and loosely wraps the fingers of the remaining one around the nape of her neck.

A small and inaudible gasp passes from her lips at the feeling of the rough material against her skin. She swallows tightly as she feels the warmth of his breath tickle the shell of her ear, assurances passed from his lips with a softness that he should not be allowed to possess.

"Yes, you _can_, my dear. And, you will not disappoint your master, will you?" He whispers to her, almost as quietly as she speaks, but with a firm and condescending tone. She feels the fear clench tighter within, and she can almost _feel_ the smirk that is surely present on his lips now. He knows of her willingness to serve and obey, and he knows how to use it to manipulate her into doing what he wants.

With nervousness and fear tight inside her, she begins to sing. It is not her words that he enjoys, but the delicacy and tenderness in her voice. He backs away for a moment, listening to the intoxicating sweetness and melodiousness in her voice as she sings before seating himself once more. She starts to move slightly too, lowering herself to crouch beside him as words continue to stream from her lips.

Soothed by her singing, he leans back, nearly lounging as he closes his eyes. Letting an arm drop from the armrest, he absentmindedly begins to brush his fingers through her hair, petting her like a master does his beloved dog. She does not mind his movements, she only continues for the intent of pleasing him, taking small solace in whatever attention she is given, even if it may not be done consciously.

She stops only when she begins to hear light snores from him. She observes him for a moment, noticing he does not look as stern or ominous as he does in the day. Believing he is completely asleep, she lowers herself further to the ground so her knees rest on the ground and she appears to be kneeling. She lowers her head into his lap, though uncomfortable for her body, gives her some sense of security. She knows as much as she fears him and how absolutely monstrous he can be at times; he will protect her if she is endangered.

She falls asleep within moments of her tired eyes' closing, paying no mind to the hand that still absentmindedly strokes her hair.


End file.
